


Anthony and Natasha

by TheCityLightShow



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, dead name reccuring (in case that's triggering for Tony's fellow trans peeps), trans!Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCityLightShow/pseuds/TheCityLightShow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Steve's sixteenth birthday, as was the norm, he woke up with a name on his wrist, etched beautifully into his skin. In blocky, scruffy handwriting now sat “Natasha Stark” on his left wrist.</p><p>It was elegant handwriting, but not in a way that anyone other than Steve would share the notion.</p><p>Now, he's out of the ice, and he lifts his wrist to his face as his vision swims for a second. <i>Oh thank god,</i> he thinks at the sight of the black blur that mars his wrist, and then his thought processes stutter and screech to halt because it's <i>changed.</i></p><p>The handwriting is still the blocky scruffy script that he loves, that holds comfort for him in the cross of the <i>t</i> and the arc of the <i>r</i>, but it's not Natasha. It doesn't say Natasha Stark any more.</p><p>No, the name on his wrist is Anthony Stark. </p><p>This time – this new time, Director Fury explains to him, this time sixty seven years in the future – this time he will find him. Whether they're ninety like he should be, or closer to his actual age, Steve won't make the same mistake twice.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't tell SHIELD that the name in their file is now wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anthony and Natasha

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: the term trans is used _extremely_ briefly in a purposefully derogatory manner.
> 
> (The change of tenses part way through is intentional, and if you don't think it works, please _please **please**_ tell me because it's something I'm trying out, and I'm not sure if I'll ever do it again. It's not a fun tense to write in... but once I'd started it felt like I'd be taking something away to re-write it.)

On Steve's sixteenth birthday, as was the norm, he woke up with a name on his wrist, etched beautifully into his skin. In blocky, scruffy handwriting now sat “Natasha Stark” on his left wrist. It was elegant handwriting, but not in a way that anyone other than Steve would share the notion. Bucky had gotten his name months ago, had showed Steve where it was etched onto his hipbone in graceful script – neither of them knew a Samuel Wilson, but Steve knew Bucky had been scared to. Leniency might be granted to soul-mates, but... Steve glanced down at his name again. He thought of doctors and engineers and _intelligence_ when he looked at the handwriting, and God knows he loves that idea. Intelligence and passion and a smile is all he ever wanted in his soul-mate, and he thought to himself that Natasha might just grant him that, even if he'd most likely fall over his own feet to get to her.

 

When Steve was nineteen, and Bucky pulled him out of an alleyway fight for the nth time, he had a flicker of resentment for the name.

Oh, his thumb often drifted to brush against the words on his wrist, pressed there to calm himself down and cheer himself up, but dames weren't his forte. Lord knows, it was a dangerous thing to do: prefer a fella in a well-cut suit when just being a small, mouthy artist was enough to have people make assumptions and Steve didn't – still doesn't – know how to back down. He wished, sometimes, rarely, that his wrist said Sam in place of Bucky; Bucky, who'd religiously kept the name hidden and a secret for years, and knew that if he signed up for the army like his Pa he'd have to put it on his enlistment form.

Steve never told him this, though. He just let Bucky drag him on date after date to dance hall to bar, to _anywhere_ with people. Bucky was searching for Natasha harder than Steve was and Steve... most days all he felt was guilt. While Bucky flirted and smiled, Steve's eyes wandered all too far and his words tied themselves up where they shouldn't have – the flicker of resentment was drowned out by thankfulness on those days. Washed away by overwhelming gratefulness that Natasha's name was on his skin, a safe name and intelligent handwriting.

He wondered if Natasha would share Bucky's sense of humour.

 

It took four (illegal) attempts to enlist in the army, and as the kind Dr Erskine recorded his soul-mate in a file, Steve couldn't help but wonder if Natasha would call him an idiot – _a punk?_ \- for what he'd just signed up for. When he climbed into the chamber, there was one god-awful minute where he thought he might not get to hear her call him _anything_ – but he had to, he _needed_  to, and he was screaming but he knew that he'd make it. For her.

Whilst knowing – somehow – that Natasha would laugh at him for his showgirl days as the Star Spangled Man with a Plan, he thought that Natasha would be like Peggy. Natasha would have the same fire in her heart and determination in her soul – he knew, just like he knew how Natasha would laugh, that Peggy and Natasha would get along just fine.

Perhaps Peggy would show him how to dance so that Natasha won't think him a fool when they finally meet.

He hoped that Natasha would be proud of him for becoming Captain America. It felt like it was something he had to do – that it was very much the right thing, and he hoped that she'd respect that of him. He met Howard Stark officially once he'd rescued Bucky, and hoped that perhaps this was _it_ , the moment someone could introduce him to his soul-mate. Howard Stark was intelligent and charming and astounding, caught the attention of the room and held it like he was born to. Steve lingered on his shoulders as much as his surname – but there's no one in Stark's family called Natasha. Steve shoved down the pang of disappointment that welled up; a girl with Stark's brain would be his undoing, so it was probably for the best.

 

It wasn't until Bucky was gone and the name on his wrist was just a name he had no face for, that Steve thought he should've searched harder. He shouldn't have been so reckless – but Bucky was all he had apart from the ink, and how was he meant to find Natasha knowing he'd never get to introduce them? How was he meant to go on and find Natasha, knowing that somewhere, there was a Samuel Wilson whose name had just disappeared – like Natasha's was going to, soon?

He'd fucked up big time.

And it was too late now. Water was leaking into the Valkyrie and the cold was already penetrating his bones. He knew when he put this in the water that he wouldn't be walking away from it again and he kept apologising to his wrist as it seeped in. He should have done so much more to find her, and he hopes she'll understand.

He'd asked Peggy that if she could, find Natasha, and promise that he'd loved her with all his heart.

She told him she will.

It still wasn't enough.

It was still cold here in the dark, with no face to the name on his wrist.

 

 

He thinks that Natasha would be his contrast, his challenger.

 

Dark haired, dark eyes...

 

Warm...

 

He won't get to know.

 

 

_It's warm._

Steve slowly drifts back into consciousness, and then upon realising that he's warm and dry and _alive_ , sits bolt upright so fast his head spins, even with the serum. He lifts his wrist to his face as his vision swims for a second. _Oh thank god,_ he thinks at the sight of the black blur that mars his wrist, and then his thought processes stutter and screech to a halt because it's _changed_.

The handwriting is still the blocky scruffy script that he loves, that holds comfort for him in the cross of the _t_ and the arc of the _r_ , but it's not Natasha. It doesn't say Natasha Stark any more.

No, the name on his wrist is Anthony Stark, and Steve has the audacity to be relieved. Dames were never his forte – but why the change? How can it change? How can his _soul-mate_ change? Was he not good enough for Natasha? The surname is the same... how can it be? Would that be bad, to meet this Anthony only to discover he used to be his sister's or his cousin's soul-mate? And this... oh, Anthony might be someone he can dream of, but he's not safe like Natasha was.

But he still has one. No matter what else has happened, he still has a soul-mate to love and to find. This time – this new time, Director Fury explains to him, this time sixty-seven years in the future – this time he _will_ find him. Whether they're ninety like he should be, or closer to his actual age, Steve won't make the same mistake twice.

He doesn't tell SHIELD that the name in their file is now wrong.

 

Meeting his new soul-mate is a fucking disaster.

He's fairly certain that loud, brash, arrogant Tony Stark, son of the man who gave him his shield, is his new soul-mate. It makes sense, really – he'd always lingered a second too long over Howard, and this man who's a hundred times smarter, with all the charm, and the sass Howard had never graced him with but Peggy and Bucky had no second thoughts over – is _just_ his type.

He's also an asshole.

They meet in Germany, but Steve doesn't get a chance to talk to him until they're on the helicarrier and Loki isn't giving up shit. He tries to be civil but there's just _something_ about him and it's getting under Steve's skin in a way he doesn't know, doesn't like. They trade barbs like the bullies Steve has always said he hated, and Steve is a little bit disgusted with himself.

And then Stark's about to put a nuke through a worm-hole, a one-way trip, and Steve wants to scream – he never asked. They'd only just met, in the middle of a war (always a war) and Steve hasn't asked. Now, the name might fade away as quickly as Steve found it.

Stark's falling, not moving, and that's possibly worse. _Don’t_ _make me watch you die_ , he wants to plead, but he forces himself to keep his mouth shut. A crash, the Hulk, and a roar that literally wakes the dead.

Anthony Stark is alive and as well as he ever was, and he's grinning up at Steve like he hung the moon. Steve grins back at him, tells him they won, and something in Tony's smile falters. There's something intrinsically sad in his gaze, and Steve hates himself for it, even if he doesn't understand it.

He's still not sure how the name on his wrist came to change, but for the first time since he woke up, he has no idea how he feels that it did.

 

Things change. He _still_ hasn't got an explanation- and Tony's not acknowledging if they're soul-mates or not– but they're friends. He moves into the Tower when he's invited to with the rest of the team, and returns Tony's truly sincere apology with one of his own. Tony obviously hadn't expected that – the shock on his face was obvious enough – but he'd grinned and brushed it off and asked him if he fancied pitching movie nights as “team-building”.

Team-building turns into family meals, and Steve hadn't felt like this even with the Commandos. With Bucky, perhaps, but there's something about impromptu cartoon marathons at 3 am when nightmares are a household plague that make Steve smile in a way he hadn't thought he could – not now he'd lost everything. Lost his Ma and Bucky, Peggy and Natasha...

But there's this Natasha with her sly humour and her surprising soft side, Clint who reminds Steve of Bucky in ways that hurt less with each passing day, Thor who's as clueless as he, and Bruce with his quiet care and hidden smiles.

Tony appoints himself Steve's Guide to the Future, and despite all that Tony can be brash and impatient and angry, Steve doesn't think anyone could teach him the way Tony does. He's astonishingly patient and pushes Steve without _pushing_ him, and in the space of three months Steve masters the internet, enrolls himself in an online art degree to occupy his spare time, re-maps the city with all the best hidden food joints, and could definitely pass high school history. There are still gaps, still days when this world is so so alien to him – but then Tony demands they go see some new film or art exhibition, or that Steve come help him with this new thing _right fucking now Steven, come_ _ **on**_ ,and Steve feels a little less blue.

Maybe they are soul-mates, and Tony doesn't want it – maybe they aren't, and this is all Steve will ever have. For all Steve has dreamt of his soul-mate – of Natasha all those years, and now Tony all these months – he thinks it's enough.

It's likely more than he deserves.

 

He's walking back to the tower after a run when he begins to get an explanation, although it doesn't much feel like one in that moment.

He has sunglasses on and a baseball cap pulled down low, as he resolutely ignores the press that try to swarm him at the foot of the tower. He'd taken the wrong route back to go in the rear entrance, but he should've altered course. The reporters are like harpies in this new world and they like to hound him for his opinions on _everything_ , now that it's out who he is. They like to pelt him with questions and not give him any chance to answer, so he takes the advice he's given and just doesn't, chanting internally over and over the mantra he'd made of Tony's off hand words – _reporters aren't anyone's fans._

One question catches his attention though, even as he gets in the tower and cuts off the noise. He thinks it'll be an insult to someone, and he can't help but hold onto it.

“ _How can you stand to be on a team with a trans?”_

He doesn't even know what a trans _is._

So he asks.

On reflection, marching into the common floor still irritated from his brush with the vultures down stairs, and demanding to know what a trans is was not the brightest idea. He should've gone to his floor, cooled off, asked Jarvis. The shock and alarm – and borderline anger, he's shocked to see – on his team's faces make him wish he'd stopped to think.

“What? I've not heard the term before.” Steve knows that he's defensive but this feels _so important_ that he has to know.

“It's a term for someone who's transgender, Cap. Probably meant as an insult if you heard it from those dicks downstairs.” Clint answers, voice unusually level, a sharp edge to his gaze that makes Steve aware he's treading on thin ground.

“I don't... can- that makes it sound like someone changes gender?” Steve asks trying to be careful, and keep his desperation to himself. Nat levels him with a look before she speaks.

“Sometimes boys are born in girls bodies, and vice versa. Transgender people identify as a gender other than the one they were assigned at birth.” Nat explains, elbowing Clint in the side, and merely raising an eyebrow in challenge when he turned to her in protest.

“Oh...” Steve paused, and an idea struck him – leaves him hopeful. “So can they change their name and their- parts?” he asks slowly, stumbling over the last word, but by Bruce's relieved smile, he's asked the right thing.

“Yes. It takes surgery and a whole lot of money to do so, but yes.” Bruce tells him. Steve nods, smiles – it's a good thing, and Steve's beginning to wonder if...

“That's good.” he murmurs, realising they're still waiting for him to speak.

“What?” Clint's anger gives way to shock, his mouth falling open.

“Well, they've got to be more comfortable, able to express themselves in a body that fits, right?” Steve says it with a faux-casual shrug, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish.

“You're okay with it?” He asks, and Steve shrugs. Steve can't tell whether he should be offended or not that Clint thought he'd react badly.

“Why wouldn't I be? Sure, it's new, but people are people, just like love is love. I don't care about someone's gender as long as they ain't hurting anybody.”

“ _Oh thank god...”_ The words are quiet, from Bruce, flooded with relief and Steve knows he wasn't meant to hear them – so instead, he asks-

“Do you have something I can read? To explain it?” All three of them are smiling at him now, and Steve wonders if they know the answer to the question on his mind.

“I'll send it to your tablet.” Bruce tells him, and Steve grins.

“Thank you. I'll go find the damn thing.” he mutters the last part, waving his goodbye, and their cheerful goodbyes follow him into the elevator. The hope in his chest sits warmly.

 

He'd never googled Natasha Stark.

He hadn't been able to bring himself to do so, to find out about the person he'd lost, the person he'd let down despite all his hopes.

He thinks, now, that if he'd done it sooner, he'd have saved himself a lot of trouble. He reads the article Bruce sent him, plus one about other genders from Clint, and some articles about famous transgender celebrities from Natasha – all of them wishing him good luck.

Tony’s in the articles. They talk of how he fought all expectations and biases against him since he came out publicly at fourteen – _fourteen_ – and how being transgender has never held him back. They talk of his charities and of his disregard for gender norms, of how he’s rewritten the definition of success and paved the way for a much more diverse business world.

Tony’s in the articles, but the idea that he never lost Natasha, that Natasha was simply the name Tony was given when he was born was... it's too good to be true.

“Jarvis?” he asks, and his voice is shaking, but who else could he ask and know it’s nothing but the truth.

“ _Yes Captain?_ ” the AI sounds vaguely hopeful, but Steve refuses to read into it.

“Is... Is Tony transgender?” He forces the words out, scared that this is some weird dream he’s created, and hopes to God that Jarvis will answer him, that Tony hadn't forbidden him from talking about it. That these articles are right.

“ _He is._ ” The reply is simple and short – and now Jarvis definitely sounds hopeful, there’s no other word for it. Steve feels like his heart might beat out of his chest.

“Was his name Natasha?”

“ _It was._ ” Jarvis pauses, and Steve holds his breath. “ _Captain, if I may, to answer what I anticipate as your next question, soul-mate marks respond to how a person identifies in regards to gender and in name._ ” Hope flares up in Steve's chest before he's finished speaking and this time he doesn’t bother to quash it down.

“So if my wrist said Natasha Stark before I went down... it was still him?” he asks, just wanting to hear Jarvis say it, have someone confirm it out loud.

“ _I believe so._ ” If the AI has the capacity to be happy, Steve thinks that he is. Given all evidence towards the point of Tony’s brilliance, Jarvis is probably as capable of feeling as the rest of them.

“Does he know about it?” Steve asks – because, of course, there are still cases to consider in which the bond is one-sided, and Steve hasn’t had the best of luck in most of his life.

“ _I do not think so. He believes, wrongly, that you still have Natasha Stark, or that you're... not inclined to accept his advances._ ” Steve smiles sadly at that, and knows that he can’t wait now that he understands.

“Is he in the Tower?”

“ _Sir is in his workshop, Captain Rogers. Would you like me to warn him of your arrival?_ ”

“No... thank you, Jarvis.” Steve replies, knowing that it isn’t enough, and he likes to think he doesn't imagine the fondness there when the AI replies:

“ _Be good to him, please._ ”

Steve smiles up at the nearest camera as he steps into the elevator. “I will endeavour to be so,” he promises. It’s easier to promise than it will be to do, but for the first time... Steve has the time to try.

 

“Tony?” Steve asks as he steps inside the lab. Jarvis has already lowered the volume so he can be heard. Tony flips up the welding mask and glances over, and Steve can't help the way his heart jumps, only a little, at the smile that lights his face even as he turns back towards the worktop.

“Oh, hey Cap! What can I do for you?” he asks without turning away the gauntlet he's working on, but Steve knows he could easily pay attention to Steve and work on three different projects at the same time. It's equal parts frustrating and fascinating, and today Steve is glad for Tony choosing not to look at him.

“Can I ask you something? But if I'm over stepping or being rude, please tell me.” Steve tries to smile as he speaks, but Tony still isn't looking at him, maybe hasn't heard his nerves in his words, so Steve puts his effort into calming down his heart rate.

“You can ask me _anything_ , Cap.” Tony pairs the remark with a trademark lavish wink, but Steve catches the sincerity there. It's a sincerity he doesn't have with most others, not even with the Avengers some days, and Steve wonders briefly how he ever could've thought he and Tony aren't a match.

“How did Howard react?” The question comes out even and without a hesitation – but it's not the question he intended to ask, set out to ask. He _knows_ that Howard is a sore subject – that any defensiveness he'd hoped to avoid will come rushing in, but he can't help the question: it's been bugging him for some time, what Howard must've thought. Howard had known the name on his wrist, after.

“What?” Tony's smile vanishes, like a cloud passing over the sun, as he turns away from the worktop.

“When your name appeared. How did Howard react?” Steve elaborates, fighting to keep his voice level and wishing he could take the words back. Tony just stares at him, and for a moment, Steve thinks he won't get an answer, that he's blown this chance and Tony won't-

“... Badly.” he says at last, coughs to clear his throat and continue with a self-depreciating smile Steve hopes he never has cause to see on Tony's face again. “He was already on his way to drunk when he asked who I had. He was hoping for someone he could manipulate to Stark Industries favour... didn't actually make it to drunk, for once. Threw the bottle.” Tony swallows, and he won't meet Steve's gaze – Steve instantly feels wretched for asking, for digging up a clearly painful memory. There's more to it, but for now, he doesn't want to hear it.

“He did _what_?” Steve asks, aghast.

“It doesn't matter.” Tony waves it off flippantly, and Steve shoves down the surge of white-hot anger for the man he'd once known and batters it into a metaphorical box with a baseball bat before accepting Tony's dismissal at face value. There'll be time later, and a better level of trust between them for such a conversation.

“And when you came out?” Steve grits the words out through his teeth – he doesn't want the answer, but he's given himself the opening, so he'll damn well take it, and hope he can fix the consequences.

“Captain?” Tony calls him by his title, his voice cracking on the word and he's _nervous,_ Steve realises in shock.

Steve takes a breath, lets it out nice and slow before he asks softly; “When you came out as transgender?”

Tony _flinches_ when Steve says the word, and he finally puts down his tools in his hands. He takes a deep breath before he speaks, and Steve wishes he'd picked any other way to broach this topic. Tony's his best friend, he should've just fucking asked-

“He threatened to disown me. Tried to, in fact, but Mom and Jarvis talked him out of it. He sent me off to MIT and didn't make any attempt to deal with it. He-” Tony caught himself then, and the sadness to the edge of his face, the slight wistfulness to his gaze is gone in an instant, replaced by anger, irritation – a reflex defence that Steve wishes more than anything Tony wouldn't think was necessary. “Why do you care?” The words are snapped harshly and the moment is so tense Steve feels like it's glass that could shatter any second.

He doesn't speak for a moment, isn't sure how to proceed without monumentally fucking this up. He thinks over his words carefully before he speaks.

He can't hold Tony's gaze – and oh, how he's dreamt of the fire in those eyes, because he was _right_ all those years ago – and he lets his gaze flicker around the workshop as he tries to be nonchalant in his reply.

“When I was sixteen, like everyone else, I got a name on my wrist. Natasha Stark, in blocky, scruffy handwriting. I liked the handwriting a lot, it was like an engineer's or a doctor's: someone smart. The name?” Steve shrugs, staring down at his feet. “Well, Natasha was safe. I might prefer guys, but it was the 30s, for God's sake. Natasha was a safe name to have. It was Natasha I apologised to when I went in the ice.”

Steve looks up at Tony then, and his heart breaks a little bit. Tony's gaze is directed somewhere over Steve's shoulder, and his shuttered-off face isn't a shock to him – really, given Steve's stupid way of going about this, it's expected – but it still hurts. Steve knows that what he's about to say will break any walls left between them, set them on a new, hopefully better road, and he carries on. “It was Anthony I woke up for.”

Tony's gaze snaps to his then, his eyes a little wider in their shock, in their unmistakeable _hope_. Steve doesn't drop his gaze, now. “I woke up, and the first thing I did was check if I still had a name on my skin – I've never heard of names changing before. I didn't know they _could_. Maybe it was just so supremely taboo in my day, but it didn't bother me, not at first. I saw the name on my wrist, and wondered what Anthony would look like. The questions came after – had I not been good enough for Natasha?”

“Steve...” Tony whispers, and Steve just shakes his head slightly, smiles and carries on.

“Natasha having died and her soul having come back was something I considered when Fury told me what had happened... I panicked then. Because either my soul-mate was going to be really young or really old, surely, and that would've been awkward as hell.” Tony's lips quirk in a minute, reflex smile at that, but the micro-expression is gone as soon as it's come. “And then, the surnames were the same – was I going to find out that Anthony was Natasha's brother? Her nephew? Her grandson? I couldn't process it...

“I was relieved though,” and Steve couldn't help the shaky little laugh he lets out. “Seriously relieved because dames have never been my area, not truly. Sure, they were eye-catching and any artist can appreciate beauty, but so was a fella in a well-cut suit. Then I met you.” Steve smiles softly, and struggles not to grin when Tony smiles in return. The shutters are falling away – Steve can see it, the confusion and hope warring on Tony's face, and Steve has the sudden want to punch anyone who had ever made Tony feel like this, feel like he wouldn't be wanted. “You didn't say anything about it. Never made out like my name was on your skin. Never occurred to me you thought I'd still be waiting on a Natasha, or that'd I'd be homophobic. Heck, never occurred to me that Natasha is what Anthony... what you used to be. I didn't get that memo until today. I'm really... really fucking glad I did though.”

“Steve, I don't-” Tony tries to speak, licking his lips and coming to a halt as he stands. He rocks on his feet and steps closer, then stops. Smiles, obviously unsure and unable to voice the war Steve can see clearly on his face now he knows how to look, to realise that he frequently understands Tony when he thought he was getting it wrong time and time again. Steve hazards a step closer, and Tony doesn't step back, simply looks up a little higher to meet Steve's gaze.

“Anthony... Tony.” Steve speaks softly, smiling, and reaches out to catch Tony's elbow with his hand. “I don't care. About any of it. You are you, and fate's a beautiful thing because it means I'm not exaggerating when I say I _have_ died for you, and I'd lose thousands of years to stand by your side with your name on my skin.”

“Steve-” Tony starts to speak, but he cuts himself off by closing the space between them and kissing Steve, hard. Steve can't help the noise in the back of his throat, a desperate needy thing, but this is his _soul-mate,_ the person he's spent a life and seventy years in the ice waiting for. He let his hands settle on Tony's waist, draws him closer as Tony goes up on his tiptoes to press into the kiss – and god, the wait was worth it, so very very worth it.

“I love you, Anthony Stark.” Steve whispers the words against Tony's lips when they have to pull back to breathe, meaning every syllable and Steve revels in the way Tony's breath ghosts across his lips as he exhales in a shaky laugh.

“I love you too, Steve. God, I thought- I thought that-” Steve kisses him again, softer this time, enjoying the way he can feel Tony smile against his lips even as he kisses back.

“I know.” Steve replies, smirking, and kisses him again. Tony actually laughs into it, and Steve is kinda proud for remembering that reference. “I'm sorry I didn't just ask you.” Tony pulls back, his arms still securely around Steve's neck. Steve notices the flecks of gold in those warm brown eyes and his hands itch for a pencil.

“Well. I have you now.” Tony replies cheekily, kissing his nose. Steve laughs and follows him as he pulls back again, resting their foreheads together.

“You always had me, Tony.” he tells him softly. He can _feel_ Tony's laugh deep in his chest as the brunet buries his face in Steve's shoulder.

“God, you're a sap, Cap.” he mutters, pressing a kiss along the edge of Steve's collar.

They stay like that for- well. Steve doesn't know how long. He just knows he'd be utterly content to stand there forever, enjoying the feel of having Tony, of being Tony's at long last.

“ _W_ _ould this be an inappropriate moment to say 'I told you so', sir?”_

**Author's Note:**

> I have three exams left and I've already had two breakdowns, so I've taken the evening off to finally finish this! *ta-daa!*
> 
> I'm hoping to do more stories in the verse, as there's idea touched upon that I want to explore - namely, the relationship of Tony and Peggy when Tony's young and coming out and such. (I promise, that won't be written in present tense, never again.) 
> 
> To those of you who've sat or are sitting exams, good luck, all the best and I hope you get what you want on result's day!


End file.
